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THE AFFAIR AT 
THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 



'- _VV r" 



A/ EV W: MASON 



CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
NEW YORK :: :: :: 1917 






COPTRIGHT, 1917, BY 

A. E. W. MASON 



JAN 18 191/ 




THE AFFAIR 
AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 



THE AFFAIR 
AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 



Mr. Ricardo, when the excitements of the Villa 
Rose were done with, returned to Grosvenor Square 
and resumed the busy, unnecessary life of an amateur. 
But the studios had lost their savour, artists their 
attractiveness, and even the Russian opera seemed a 
trifle flat. Life was altogether a disappointment; 
Fate, like an actress at a restaurant, had taken the 
wooden pestle in her hand and stirred all the sparkle 
out of the champagne; Mr. Ricardo languished — until 
one unforgettable morning. 

He was sitting disconsolately at his breakfast-table 
when the door was burst open and a square, stout 
man, with the blue, shaven face of a French comedian, 
flung himself into the room. Ricardo sprang towards 
the new-comer with a cry of delight. 

"My dearHanaud!" 

He seized his visitor by the arm, feeling it to make 
sure that here, in flesh and blood, stood the man who 
had introduced him to the acutest sensations of his 
life. He turned towards his butler, who was still 

3 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

bleating expostulations in the doorway at the uncere- 
monious irruption of the French detective. 

"Another place, Burton, at once,'* he cried, and as 
soon as he and Hanaud were alone : " What good wind 
blows you to London?" 

"Business, my friend. The disappearance of bul- 
lion somewhere on the line between Paris and London. 
But it is finished. Yes, I take a holiday." 

A light had suddenly flashed in Mr. Ricardo's eyes, 
and was now no less suddenly extinguished. Hanaud 
paid no attention whatever to his friend's disappoint- 
ment. He pounced upon a piece of silver which 
adorned the tablecloth and took it over to the window. 

"Everything is as it should be, my friend," he ex- 
claimed, with a grin. "Grosvenor Square, the Times 
open at the money column, and a false antique upon 
the table. Thus I have dreamed of you. All Mr. 
Ricardo is in that sentence." 

Ricardo laughed nervously. Recollection made him 
wary of Hanaud's sarcasms. He was shy even to 
protest the genuineness of his silver. But, indeed, he 
had not the time. For the door opened again and 
once more the butler appeared. On this occasion, 
however, he was alone. 

"Mr. Calladine would like to speak to you, sir," he 
said. 

" Calladine ! " cried Ricardo in an extreme surprise. 
^'That is the most extraordinary thing." He looked 

4 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

at the clock upon his mantelpiece. It was barely 
half-past eight. "At this hour, too?" 

"Mr. Calladine is still wearing evening dress," the 
butler remarked. 

Ricardo started in his chair. He began to dream 
of possibilities; and here was Hanaud miraculously at 
his side. 

"Where is Mr. Calladine?" he asked. 

"I have shown him into the library." 

"Good," said Mr. Ricardo. "I will come to him." 

But he was in no hurry. He sat and let his thoughts 
play with this incident of Calladine's early visit. 

" It is very odd," he said. " I have not seen Calla- 
dine for months — no, nor has anyone. Yet, a little 
while ago, no one was more often seen." 

He fell apparently into a muse, but he was merely 
seeking to provoke Hanaud's curiosity. In this at- 
tempt, however, he failed. Hanaud continued plac- 
idly to eat his breakfast, so that Mr. Ricardo was 
compelled to volunteer the story which he was burn- 
ing to tell. 

"Drink your coffee, Hanaud, and you shall hear 
about Calladine." 

Hanaud grunted with resignation, and Mr. Ricardo 
flowed on: 

"Calladine was one of England's young men. Ev- 
erybody said so. He was going to do very wonderful 
things as soon as he had made up his mind exactly 

5 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

what sort of wonderful things he was going to do. 
Meanwhile, you met him in Scotland, at Newmarket, 
at Ascot, at Cowes, in the box of some great lady at 
the Opera — not before half-past ten in the evening 
there — in any fine house where the candles that night 
happened to be lit. He went everywhere, and then 
a day came and he went nowhere. There was no 
scandal, no trouble, not a whisper against his good 
name. He simply vanished. For a little while a few 
people asked: 'What has become of Calladine?' But 
there never was any answer, and London has no time 
for unanswered questions. Other promising young 
men dined in his place. Calladine had joined the huge 
legion of the Come-to-nothings. No one even seemed 
to pass him in the street. Now unexpectedly, at half- 
past eight in the morning, and in evening dress, he 
calls upon me. 'Why?' I ask myself." 

Mr. Ricardo sank once more into a reverie. Hanaud 
watched him with a broadening smile of pure enjoy- 
ment. 

"And in time, I suppose," he remarked casually, 
"you will perhaps ask him?" 

Mr. Ricardo sprang out of his pose to his feet. 

"Before I discuss serious things with an acquain- 
tance," he said with a scathing dignity, "I make it a 
rule to revive my impressions of his personality. The 
cigarettes are in the crystal box." 

"They would be," said Hanaud, unabashed, as 
6 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Ricardo stalked from the room. But in five minutes 
Mr. Ricardo came running back, all his composure gone. 

" It is the greatest good fortune that you, my friend, 
should have chosen this morning to visit me," he 
cried, and Hanaud nodded with a little grimace of 
resignation. 

"There goes my holiday. You shall command me 
now and always. I will make the acquaintance of 
your young friend." 

He rose up and followed Ricardo into his study, 
where a young man was nervously pacing the floor. 

''Mr. Calladine," said Ricardo. "This is Mr. Ha- 
naud." 

The young man turned eagerly. He was tall, with a 
noticeable elegance and distinction, and the face which 
he showed to Hanaud was, in spite of its agitation, 
remarkably handsome. 

"I am very glad," he said. "You are not an official 
of this country. You can advise — without yourself 
taking action, if you'll be so good." 

Hanaud frowned. He bent his eyes uncompromis- 
ingly upon Calladine. 

"What does that mean?" he asked, with a note of 
sternness in his voice. 

"It means that I must tell someone," Calladine 
burst out in quivering tones. "That I don't know 
what to do. I am in a difficulty too big for me. 
That's the truth." 

7 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Hanaud looked at the young man keenly. It 
seemed to Ricardo that he took in every excited ges- 
ture, every twitching feature, in one comprehensive 
glance. Then he said in a friendlier voice: 

"Sit down and tell me" — and he himself drew up a 
chair to the table. 

"I was at the Semiramis last night," said Calladine, 
naming one of the great hotels upon the Embankment. 
"There was a fancy-dress ball." 

All this happened, by the way, in those far-off days 
before the war — nearly, in fact, three years ago to- 
day — when London, flinging aside its reticence, its 
shy self-consciousness, had become a city of carnivals 
and masquerades, rivalling its neighbours on the Con- 
tinent in the spirit of its gaiety, and exceeding them 
by its stupendous luxury. "I went by the merest 
chance. My rooms are in the Adelphi Terrace." 

" There ! " cried Mr. Ricardo in surprise, and Ha- 
naud lifted a hand to check his interruptions. 

"Yes," continued Calladine. "The night was 
warm, the music floated through my open windows 
and stirred old memories. I happened to have a 
ticket. I went." 

Calladine drew up a chair opposite to Hanaud 
and, seating himself, told, with many nervous starts 
and in troubled tones, a story which, to Mr, Ricardo's 
thinking, was as fabulous as any out of the "x\rabian 
Nights." 

8 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"I had a ticket," he began, "but no domino. I 
was consequently stopped by an attendant in the 
lounge at the top of the staircase leading down to the 
ballroom. 

" ' You can hire a domino in the cloakroom, Mr. 
Calladine,' he said to me. I had already begun to 
regret the impulse which had brought me, and I wel- 
comed the excuse with which the absence of a costume 
provided me. I was, indeed, turning back to the door, 
when a girl who had at that moment run down from 
the stairs of the hotel into the lounge, cried gaily: 
* That's not necessary'; and at the same moment she 
flung to me a long scarlet cloak which she had been 
wearing over her own dress. She was young, fair, 
rather tall, slim, and very pretty; her hair was drawn 
back from her face with a ribbon, and rippled down 
her shoulders in heavy curls; and she was dressed in 
a satin coat and knee-breeches of pale green and gold, 
with a white waistcoat and silk stockings and scarlet 
heels to her satin shoes. She was as straight-limbed as 
a boy, and exquisite like a figure in Dresden china. I 
caught the cloak and turned to thank her. But she 
did not wait. With a laugh she ran down the stairs 
a supple and shining figure, and was lost in the throng 
at the doorway of the ballroom. I was stirred by the 
prospect of an adventure. I ran down after her. She 
was standing just inside the room alone, and she was 
gazing at the scene with parted lips and dancing eyes. 

9 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

She laughed again as she saw the cloak about my 
shoulders, a delicious gurgle of amusement, and I 
said to her: 

" 'May I dance with you?' 

" *0h, do !' she cried, with a little jump, and clasp- 
ing her hands. She was of a high and joyous spirit 
and not difficult in the matter of an introduction. 
'This gentleman will do very well to present us,' she 
said, leading me in front of a bust of the God Pan 
which stood in a niche of the wall. 'I am, as you see, 
straight out of an opera. My name is Celymene or 
anything with an eighteenth century sound to it. You 
are — what you will. For this evening we are friends.' 

"*And for to-morrow?' I asked. 

" * I will tell you about that later on,' she replied, 
and she began to dance with a light step and a pas- 
sion in her dancing which earned me many an envious 
glance from the other men. I was in luck, for Cely- 
mene knew no one, and though, of course, I saw the 
faces of a great many people whom I remembered, 
I kept them all at a distance. We had been dancing 
for about half an hour when the first queerish thing 
happened. She stopped suddenly in the midst of a 
sentence with a little gasp. I spoke to her, but she 
did not hear. She was gazing past me, her eyes wide 
open, and such a rapt look upon her face as I had 
never seen. She was lost in a miraculous vision. I 
followed the direction of her eyes and, to my astonish- 
ment, I saw nothing more than a stout, short, middle- 

10 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

aged woman, egregiously over-dressed as Marie Antoi- 
nette. 

"'So you do know someone here?' I said, and I 
had to repeat the words sharply before my friend 
withdrew her eyes. But even then she was not aware 
of me. It was as if a voice had spoken to her whilst 
she was asleep and had disturbed, but not wakened 
her. Then she came to — there's really no other word 
I can think of which describes her at that moment — 
she came to with a deep sigh. 

"'No,' she answered. 'She is a Mrs. Blumenstein 
from Chicago, a widow with ambitions and a great 
deal of money. But I don't know her.' 

" 'Yet you know all about her,' I remarked. 

"'She crossed in the same boat with me,' Cely- 
mene replied. ' Did I tell you that I landed at Liver- 
pool this morning? She is staying at the Semiramis 
too. Oh, let us dance !' 

"She twitched my sleeve impatiently, and danced 
with a kind of violence and wildness as if she wished 
to banish some sinister thought. And she did un- 
doubtedly banish it. We supped together and grew 
confidential, as under such conditions people will. 
She told me her real name. It was Joan Carew. 

" 'I have come over to get an engagement if I can at 
Covent Garden. I am supposed to sing all right. But I 
don't know anyone. I have been brought up in Italy.' 

'"You have some letters of introduction, I sup- 
pose?' I asked. 

11 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

*''0h, yes. One from my teacher in Milan. One 
from an American manager.* 

" In my turn I told her my name and where I lived, 
and I gave her my card. I thought, you see, that 
since I used to know a good many operatic people, I 
might be able to help her. 

" * Thank you,' she said, and at that moment Mrs. 
Blumenstein, followed by a party, chiefly those lap- 
dog young men who always seem to gather about that 
kind of person, came into the supper-room and took 
a table close to us. There was at once an end of all 
confidences — indeed, of all conversation. Joan Carew 
lost all the lightness of her spirit; she talked at ran- 
dom, and her eyes were drawn again and again to the 
grotesque slander on Marie Antoinette. Finally I 
became annoyed. 

" ' Shall we go ? ' I suggested impatiently, and to 
my surprise she whispered passionately: 

"'Yes. Please! Let us go.' 

"Her voice was actually shaking, her small hands 
clenched. We went back to the ballroom, but Joan 
Carew did not recover her gaiety, and half-way through 
a dance, when we were near to the door, she stopped 
abruptly — extraordinarily abruptly. 

"*I shall go/ she said abruptly. 'I am tired. I 
have grown dull.' 

"I protested, but she made a little grimace. 

"* You'll hate me in half an hour. Let's be wise 
12 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

and stop now while we are friends/ she said, and 
whilst I removed the domino from my shoulders she 
stooped very quickly. It seemed to me that she picked 
up something which had lain hidden beneath the sole 
of her slipper. She certainly moved her foot, and I 
certainly saw something small and bright flash in the 
palm of her glove as she raised herself again. But I 
imagined merely that it was some object which she 
had dropped. 

" * Yes, we'll go,' she said, and we went up the stairs 
into the lobby. Certainly all the sparkle had gone out 
of our adventure. I recognized her wisdom. 

" 'But I shall meet you again?' I asked. 

" * Yes. I have your address. I'll write and fix a 
time when you will be sure to find me in. Good-night, 
and a thousand thanks. I should have been bored to 
tears if you hadn't come without a domino.' 

" She was speaking lightly as she held out her hand, 
but her grip tightened a little and — clung. Her eyes 
darkened and grew troubled, her mouth trembled. 
The shadow of a great trouble had suddenly closed 
about her. She shivered. 

'"I am half inclined to ask you to stay, however 
dull I am; and dance with me till daylight — the safe 
daylight,' she said. 

"It was an extraordinary phrase for her to use, 
and it moved me. 

" *Let us go back then !' I urged. She gave me an 
13 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

impression suddenly of someone quite forlorn. But 
Joan Carew recovered her courage. *No, no,' she an- 
swered quickly. She snatched her hand away and 
ran lightly up the staircase, turning at the corner to 
wave her hand and smile. It was then half-past one 
in the morning." 

So far Calladine had spoken without an interrup- 
tion. Mr. Ricardo, it is true, was bursting to break 
in with the most important questions, but a salutary 
fear of Hanaud restrained him. Now, however, he 
had an opportunity, for Calladine paused. 

"Half-past one," he said sagely. "Ah!" 

"And when did you go home?" Hanaud asked of 
Calladine. 

"True," said Mr. Ricardo. "It is of the greatest 
consequence." 

Calladine was not sure. His partner had left be- 
hind her the strangest medley of sensations in his 
breast. He was puzzled, haunted, and charmed. He 
had to think about her; he was a trifle uplifted; sleep 
was impossible. He wandered for a while about the 
ballroom. Then he walked to his chambers along the 
echoing streets and sat at his window; and some time 
afterwards the hoot of a motor-horn broke the silence 
and a car stopped and whirred in the street below. 
A moment later his bell rang. 

He ran down the stairs in a queer excitement, un- 
locked the street door and opened it. Joan Carew, 

14 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

still in her masquerade dress with her scarlet cloak 
about her shoulders, slipped through the opening. 

"Shut the door," she whispered, drawing herself 
apart in a corner. 

"Your cab?" asked Calladine. 

"It has gone." 

Calladine latched the door. Above, in the well of 
the stairs, the light spread out from the open door of 
his flat. Down here all was dark. He could just see 
the glimmer of her white face, the glitter of her dress, 
but she drew her breath like one who has run far. 
They mounted the stairs cautiously. He did not say 
a word until they were both safely in his parlour; and 
even then it was in a low voice. 

" What has happened ? " 

"You remember the woman I stared at? You 
didn't know why I stared, but any girl would have 
understood. She was wearing the loveliest pearls I 
ever saw in my life." 

Joan was standing by the edge of the table. She 
was tracing with her finger a pattern on the cloth as 
she spoke. Calladine started with a horrible presenti- 
ment. 

"Yes," she said. " I worship pearls. I always have 
done. For one thing, they improve on me. I haven't 
got any, of course. I have no money. But friends 
of mine who do own pearls have sometimes given 
theirs to me to wear when they were going sick, and 

15 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

they have always got back their lustre. I think that 
has had a little to do with my love of them. Oh, I 
have always longed for them — just a little string. 
Sometimes I have felt that I would have given my 
soul for them." 

She was speaking in a dull, monotonous voice. 
But Calladine recalled the ecstasy which had shone in 
her face when her eyes first had fallen on the pearls, 
the longing which had swept her quite into another 
world, the passion with which she had danced to 
throw the obsession off. 

"And I never noticed them at all," he said. 

" Yet they were wonderful. The colour ! The lus- 
tre ! All the evening they tempted me. I was furious 
that a fat, coarse creature like that should have such 
exquisite things. Oh, I was mad." 

She covered her face suddenly with her hands and 
swayed. Calladine sprang towards her. But she held 
out her hand. 

"No, I am all right." And though he asked her to 
sit down she would not. "You remember when I 
stopped dancing suddenly?" 

"Yes. You had something hidden under your 
foot?" 

The girl nodded. 

"Her key!" And under his breath Calladine ut- 
tered a startled cry. 

For the first time since she had entered the room 
16 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Joan Carew raised her head and looked at him. Her 
eyes were full of terror, and with the terror was mixed 
an incredulity as though she could not possibly be- 
lieve that that had happened which she knew had 
happened. 

"A little Yale key," the girl continued. "I saw 
Mrs. Blumenstein looking on the floor for something, 
and then I saw it shining on the very spot. Mrs. 
Blumenstein' s suite was on the same floor as mine, 
and her maid slept above. All the maids do. I knew 
that. Oh, it seemed to me as if I had sold my soul 
and was being paid." 

Now Calladine understood what she had meant by 
her strange phrase — "the safe daylight." 

"I went up to my little suite," Joan Carew contin- 
ued. "I sat there with the key burning through my 
glove until I had given her time enough to fall asleep" 
— and though she hesitated before she spoke the words, 
she did speak them, not looking at Calladine, and 
with a shudder of remorse making her confession 
complete. "Then I crept out. The corridor was 
dimly lit. Far away below the music was throbbing. 
Up here it was as silent as the grave. I opened the 
door — her door. I found myself in a lobby. The 
suite, though bigger, was arranged like mine. I 
slipped in and closed the door behind me. I listened 
in the darkness. I couldn't hear a sound. I crept 
forward to the door in front of me. I stood with my 

17 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

fingers on the handle and my heart beating fast enough 
to choke me. I had still time to turn back. But I 
couldn't. There were those pearls in front of my 
eyes, lustrous and wonderful. I opened the door gen- 
tly an inch or so — and then — it all happened in a 
second." 

Joan Carew faltered. The night was too near to 
her, its memory too poignant with terror. She shut 
her eyes tightly and cowered down in a chair. With 
the movement her cloak slipped from her shoulders 
and dropped on to the ground. Calladine leaned for- 
ward with an exclamation of horror; Joan Carew 
started up. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"Nothing. Goon." 

"I found myself inside the room with the door shut 
behind me. I had shut it myself in a spasm of ter- 
ror. And I dared not turn round to open it. I was 
helpless." 

" What do you mean ? She was awake ? " 

Joan Carew shook her head. 

"There were others in the room before me, and on 
the same errand — men!" 

Calladine drew back, his eyes searching the girl's 
face. 

"Yes?" he said slowly. 

"I didn't see them at first. I didn't hear them. 
The room was quite dark except for one jet of fierce 

18 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

white light which beat upon the door of a safe. And 
as I shut the door the jet moved swiftly and the light 
reached me and stopped. I was blinded. I stood in 
the full glare of it, drawn up against the panels of the 
door, shivering, sick with fear. Then I heard a quiet 
laugh, and someone moved softly towards me. Oh, 
it was terrible ! I recovered the use of my limbs; in a 
panic I turned to the door, but I was too late. Whilst 
I fumbled with the handle I was seized; a hand cov- 
ered my mouth. I was lifted to the centre of the 
room. The jet went out, the electric lights were 
turned on. There were two men dressed as apaches 
in velvet trousers and red scarves, like a hundred 
others in the ballroom below, and both were masked. 
I struggled furiously; but, of course, I was like a child 
in their grasp. 'Tie her legs,' the man whispered 
who was holding me; * she's making too much noise.' 
I kicked and fought, but the other man stooped and 
tied my ankles, and I fainted." 

Calladine nodded his head. 

"Yes?" he said. 

"When I came to, the lights were still burning, the 
door of the safe was open, the room empty; I had been 
flung on to a couch at the foot of the bed. I was ly- 
ing there quite free." 

"Was the safe empty?" asked Calladine suddenly. 

"I didn't look," she answered. "Oh!" — and she 
covered her face spasmodically with her hands. "I 

19 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

looked at the bed. Someone was lying there — under 
a sheet and quite still. There was a clock ticking in 
the room; it was the only sound. I was terrified. I 
was going mad with fear. If I didn't get out of the 
room at once I felt that I should go mad, that I should 
scream and bring everyone to find me alone with — 
what was under the sheet in the bed. I ran to the 
door and looked out through a slit into the corridor. 
It was still quite empty, and below the music still 
throbbed in the ballroom. I crept down the stairs, 
meeting no one until I reached the hall. I looked into 
the ballroom as if I was searching for someone. I 
stayed long enough to show myself. Then I got a 
cab and came to you." 

A short silence followed. Joan Carew looked at 
her companion in appeal. "You are the only one I 
could come to," she added. "I know no one else." 

Calladine sat watching the girl in silence. Then he 
asked, and his voice was hard: 

"And is that all you have to tell me?" 

"Yes." 

" You are quite sure ? " 

Joan Carew looked at him perplexed by the urgency 
of his question. She reflected for a moment or two. 

"Quite." 

Calladine rose to his feet and stood beside her. 

"Then how do you come to be wearing this?" he 
asked, and he lifted a chain of platinum and diamonds 

20 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

which she was wearing about her shoulders. "You 
weren't wearing it when you danced with me." 

Joan Carew stared at the chain. 

"No. It's not mine. I have never seen it before." 
Then a light came into her eyes. "The two men — 
they must have thrown it over my head when I was 
on the couch — before they went." She looked at it 
more closely. "That's it. The chain's not very 
valuable. They could spare it, and — it would accuse 
me — of what they did." 

"Yes, that's very good reasoning," said Calladine 
coldly. 

Joan Carew looked quickly up into his face. 

"Oh, you don't believe me," she cried. "You 
think — oh, it's impossible." And, holding him by the 
edge of his coat, she burst into a storm of passionate 
denials. 

"But you went to steal, you know," he said gently, 
and she answered him at once: 

"Yes, I did, but not this." And she held up the 
necklace. "Should I have stolen this, should I have 
come to you wearing it, if I had stolen the pearls, if I 
had" — and she stopped — "if my story were not true?" 

Calladine weighed her argument, and it affected him. 

"No, I think you wouldn't," he said frankly. 

Most crimes, no doubt, were brought home because 
the criminal had made some incomprehensibly stupid 
mistake; incomprehensibly stupid, that is, by the 

21 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

standards of normal life. Nevertheless, Calladine was 
inclined to believe her. He looked at her. That she 
should have murdered was absurd. Moreover, she 
was not making a parade of remorse, she was not 
playing the unctuous penitent; she had yielded to a 
temptation, had got herself into desperate straits, and 
was at her wits' ends how to escape from them. She 
was frank about herself. 

Calladine looked at the clock. It was nearly five 
o'clock in the morning, and though the music could 
still be heard from the ballroom in the Semiramis, the 
night had begun to wane upon the river. 

"You must go back," he said. "I'll walk with you." 

They crept silently down the stairs and into the 
street. It was only a step to the Semiramis. They 
met no one until they reached the Strand. There 
many, like Joan Carew in masquerade, were standing 
about, or walking hither and thither in search of car- 
riages and cabs. The whole street was in a bustle, 
what with drivers shouting and people coming away. 

"You can slip in unnoticed," said Calladine as he 
looked into the thronged courtyard. "I'll telephone 
to you in the morning." 

"You will?" she cried eagerly, clinging for a mo- 
ment to his arm. 

"Yes, for certain," he replied. "Wait in until you 
hear from me. I'll think it over. I'll do what I can." 

"Thank you," she said fervently. 
22 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

He watched her scarlet cloak flitting here and there 
in the crowd until it vanished through the doorway. 
Then, for the second time, he walked back to his 
chambers, while the morning crept up the river from 
the sea. 



This was the story which Calladine told in Mr. 
Ricardo's library. Mr. Ricardo heard it out with 
varying emotions. He began with a thrill of expec- 
tation like a man on a dark threshold of great excite- 
ments. The setting of the story appealed to him, too, 
by a sort of brilliant bizarrerie which he found in it. 
But, as it went on, he grew puzzled and a trifle dis- 
heartened. There were flaws and chinks; he began to 
bubble with unspoken criticisms, then swift and clever 
thrusts which he dared not deliver. He looked upon 
the young man with disfavour, as upon one who had 
half opened a door upon a theatre of great promise 
and shown him a spectacle not up to the mark. Ha- 
naud, on the other hand, listened imperturbably, with- 
out an expression upon his face, until the end. Then 
he pointed a finger at Calladine and asked him what 
to Ricardo's mind was a most irrelevant question. 

" You got back to your rooms, then, before five, Mr. 
Calladine, and it is now nine o'clock less a few min- 
utes." 

"Yes." 

23 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"Yet you have not changed your clothes. Explain 
to me that. What did you do between five and half- 
past eight?" 

Calladine looked down at his rumpled shirt front. 

"Upon my word, I never thought of it," he cried. 
"I was worried out of my mind. I couldn't decide 
what to do. Finally, I determined to talk to Mr. 
Ricardo, and after I had come to that conclusion I 
just waited impatiently until I could come round with 
decency." 

Hanaud rose from his chair. His manner was grave, 
but conveyed no single hint of an opinion. He turned 
to Ricardo. 

"Let us go round to your young friend's rooms in 
the Adelphi," he said; and the three men drove thither 
at once. 



n 



Calladine lodged in a corner house and upon the 
first floor. His rooms, large and square and lofty, 
with Adams mantelpieces and a delicate tracery upon 
their ceilings, breathed the grace of the eighteenth 
century. Broad high windows, embrasured in thick 
walls, overlooked the river and took in all the sunshine 
and the air which the river had to give. And they 
were furnished fittingly. When the three men entered 
the parlour, Mr. Ricardo was astounded. He had ex- 

24 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

pected the untidy litter of a man run to seed, the neg- 
lect and the dust of the recluse. But the room was 
as clean as the deck of a yacht; an Aubusson carpet 
made the floor luxurious underfoot; a few coloured 
prints of real value decorated the walls; and the ma- 
hogany furniture was polished so that a lady could 
have used it as a mirror. There was even by the 
newspapers upon the round table a china bowl full of 
fresh red roses. If Calladine had turned hermit, he 
was a hermit of an unusually fastidious type. Indeed, 
as he stood with "his two companions in his dishevelled 
dress he seemed quite out of keeping with his rooms. 

"So you live here, Mr. Calladine?" said Hanaud, 
taking off his hat and laying it down. 

"Yes." 

"With your servants, of course?" 

"They come in during the day," said Calladine, 
and Hanaud looked at him curiously. 

"Do you mean that you sleep here alone?" 

"Yes." 

"But your valet?" 

"I don't keep a valet," said Calladine; and again 
the curious look came into Hanaud's eyes. 

"Yet," he suggested gently, "there are rooms 
enough in your set of chambers to house a family." 

Calladine coloured and shifted uncomfortably from 
one foto to the other. 

"I prefer at night not to be disturbed," he said, 
25 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

stumbling a little over the words. " I mean, I have a 
liking for quiet." 

Gabriel Hanaud nodded his head with sympathy. 

"Yes, yes. And it is a difficult thing to get — as 
difficult as my holiday," he said ruefully, with a smile 
for Mr. Ricardo. "However" — he turned towards 
Calladine — "no doubt, now that you are at home, 
you would like a bath and a change of clothes. And 
when you are dressed, perhaps you will telephone to 
the Semiramis and ask Miss Carew to come round 
here. Meanwhile, we will read your newspapers and 
smoke your cigarettes." 

Hanaud shut the door upon Calladine, but he turned 
neither to the papers nor the cigarettes. He crossed 
the room to Mr. Ricardo, who, seated at the open 
window, was plunged deep in reflections. 

"You have an idea, my friend," cried Hanaud. 
"It demands to express itself. That sees itself in 
your face. Let me hear it, I pray." 

Mr. Ricardo started out of an absorption which was 
altogether assumed. 

"I was thinking," he said, with a faraway smile, 
"that you might disappear in the forests of Africa, 
and at once everyone would be very busy about your 
disappearance. You might leave your village in 
Leicestershire and live in the fogs of Glasgow, and 
within a week the whole village would know your 
postal address. But London — what a city ! How dif- 

26 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

ferentl How indifferent! Turn out of St. James's 
into the Adelphi Terrace and not a soul will say to you : 
*Dr. Livingstone, I presume?'" 

"But why should they," asked Hanaud, "if your 
name isn't Dr. Livingstone?" 

Mr. Ricardo smiled indulgently. 

"Scoffer!" he said. "You understand me very 
well," and he sought to turn the tables on his com- 
panion. "And you — does this room suggest nothing 
to you? Have you no ideas?" But he knew very 
well that Hanaud had. Ever since Hanaud had crossed 
the threshold he had been like a man stimulated by a 
drug. His eyes were bright and active, his body alert. 

"Yes," he said, "I have." 

He was standing now by Ricardo's side with his 
hands in his pockets, looking out at the trees on the 
Embankment and the barges swinging down the 
river. 

"You are thinking of the strange scene which took 
place in this room such a very few hours ago," said 
Ricardo. "The girl in her masquerade dress mak- 
ing her confession with the stolen chain about her 
throat " 

Hanaud looked backwards carelessly. "No, I 
wasn't giving it a thought," he said, and in a moment 
or two he began to walk about the room with that 
curiously light step which Ricardo was never able to 
reconcile with his cumber somefigure. With the 

27 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

heaviness of a bear he still padded. He went from 
corner to corner, opened a cupboard here, a drawer of 
the bureau there, and — stooped suddenly. He stood 
erect again with a small box of morocco leather in his 
hand. His body from head to foot seemed to Ricardo 
to be expressing the question, "Have I found it?" 
He pressed a spring and the lid of the box flew open. 
Hanaud emptied its contents into the palm of his 
hand. There were two or three sticks of sealing-wax 
and a seal. With a shrug of the shoulders he replaced 
them and shut the box. 

"You are looking for something," Ricardo an- 
nounced with sagacity. 

"I am," replied Hanaud; and it seemed that in a 
second or two he found it. Yet — yet — he found it 
with his hands in his pockets, if he had found it. Mr. 
Ricardo saw him stop in that attitude in front of the 
mantelshelf, and heard him utter a long, low whistle. 
Upon the mantelshelf some photographs were ar- 
ranged, a box of cigars stood at one end, a book or 
two lay between some delicate ornaments of china, 
and a small engraving in a thin gilt frame was propped 
at the back against the wall. Ricardo surveyed the 
shelf from his seat in the window, but he could not 
imagine which it was of these objects that so drew and 
held Hanaud's eyes. 

Hanaud, however, stepped forward. He looked 
into a vase and turned it upside down. Then he re- 

28 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

moved the lid of a porcelain cup, and from the very 
look of his great shoulders Ricardo knew that he had 
discovered what he sought. He was holding something 
in his hands, turning it over, examining it. When he 
was satisfied he moved swiftly to the door and opened 
it cautiously. Both men could hear the splashing of 
water in a bath. Hanaud closed the door again with 
a nod of contentment and crossed once more to the 
window. 

"Yes, it is all very strange and curious," he said, 
"and I do not regret that you dragged me into the 
affair. You were quite right, my friend, this morning. 
It is the personality of your young Mr. Calladine 
which is the interesting thing. For instance, here we 
are in London in the early summer. The trees out? 
freshly green, lilac and flowers in the gardens, and I 
don't know what tingle of hope and expectation in 
the sunlight and the air. I am middle-aged — yet there's 
a riot in my blood, a recapture of youth, a belief that 
just round the corner, beyond the reach of my eyes, 
wonders wait for me. Don't you, too, feel something 
like that? Well, then — " and he heaved his shoulders 
in astonishment. 

"Can you understand a young man with money, 
with fastidious tastes, good-looking, hiding himself in 
a corner at such a time — except for some overpower- 
ing reason ? No. Nor can I. There is another thing 
— I put a question or two to Calladine." 

29 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"Yes," said Ricardo. 

"He has no servants here at night. He is quite 
alone and — here is what I find interesting — he has no 
valet. That seems a small thing to you?" Hanaud 
asked at a movement from Ricardo. "Well, it is no 
doubt a trifle, but it's a significant trifle in the case of 
a young rich man. It is generally a sign that there is 
something strange, perhaps even something sinister, in 
his life. Mr. Calladine, some months ago, turned out of 
St. James's into the Adelphi. Can you tell me why ? " 

"No," replied Mr. Ricardo. "Can you?" 

Hanaud stretched out a hand. In his open palm 
lay a small round hairy bulb about the size of a big 
button and of a colour between green and brown. 

"Look!" he said. "What is that?" 

Mr. Ricardo took the bulb wonderingly. 

"It looks to me like the fruit of some kind of 
cactus." 

Hanaud nodded. 

"It is. You will see some pots of it in the hot- 
houses of any really good botanical gardens. Kew 
has them, I have no doubt. Paris certainly has. They 
are labelled. 'Anhalonium Luinii.' But amongst the 
Indians of Yucatan the plant has a simpler name." 

"What name?" asked Ricardo. 

"Mescal." 

Mr. Ricardo repeated the name. It conveyed noth- 
ing to him whatever. 

30 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"There are a good many bulbs just like that in the 
cup upon the mantelshelf," said Hanaud. 

Ricardo looked quickly up. 

"Why?" he asked. 

"Mescal is a drug." 

Ricardo started. 

"Yes, you are beginning to understand now," Ha- 
naud continued, "why your young friend Calladine 
turned out of St. James's into the Adelphi Terrace." 

Ricardo turned the little bulb over in his fingers. 

"You make a decoction of it, I suppose?" he said. 

"Or you can use it as the Indians do in Yucatan," 
replied Hanaud. "Mescal enters into their religious 
ceremonies. They sit at night in a circle about a fire 
built in the forest and chew it, whilst one of their 
number beats perpetually upon a drum." 

Hanaud looked round the room and took notes of 
its luxurious carpet, its delicate appointments. Out- 
side the window there was a thunder in the streets, 
a clamour of voices. Boats went swiftly down the 
river on the ebb. Beyond the mass of the Semiramis 
rose the great grey-white dome of St. Paul's. Op- 
posite, upon the Southwark bank, the giant sky-signs, 
the big Highlander drinking whisky, and the rest of 
them waited, gaunt skeletons, for the night to limn 
them in fire and give them life. Below the trees in 
the gardens rustled and waved. In the air were the 
uplift and the sparkle of the young summer. 

31 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"It's a long way from the forests of Yucatan to 
the Adelphi Terrace of London," said Hanaud. "Yet 
here, I think, in these rooms, when the servants are 
all gone and the house is very quiet, there is a little 
corner of wild Mexico." 

A look of pity came into Mr. Ricardo's face. He 
had seen more than one young man of great promise 
slacken his hold and let go, just for this reason. Calla- 
dine, it seemed, was another. 

" It's like bhang and kieff and the rest of the devilish 
things, I suppose," he said, indignantly tossing the 
button upon the table. 

Hanaud picked it up. 

"No," he replied. "It's not quite like any other 
drug. It has a quality of its own which just now is 
of particular importance to you and me. Yes, my 
friend" — and he nodded his head very seriously — 
"we must watch that we do not make the big fools of 
ourselves in this affair." 

"There," Mr. Ricardo agreed with an ineffable air 
of wisdom, "I am entirely with you." 

"Now, why?" Hanaud asked. Mr. Ricardo was 
at a loss for a reason, but Hanaud did not wait. "I 
will tell you. Mescal intoxicates, yes — but it does 
more — it gives to the man who eats of it colour- 
dreams." 

"Colour-dreams?" Mr. Ricardo repeated in a won- 
dering voice. . 

32 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"Yes, strange heated charms, in which violent 
things happen vividly amongst bright colours. Colour 
is the gift of this little prosaic brown button." He 
spun the bulb in the air like a coin, and catching it 
again, took it over to the mantelpiece and dropped it 
into the porcelain cup. 

"Are you sure of this?" Ricardo cried excitedly, 
and Hanuad raised his hand in warning. He went to 
the door, opened it for an inch or so, and closed it 
again. 

"I am quite sure," he returned. "I have for a 
friend a very learned chemist in the College de France. 
He is one of those enthusiasts who must experiment 
upon themselves. He tried this drug." 

"Yes," Ricardo said in a quieter voice. "And 
what did he see?" 

"He had a vision of a wonderful garden bathed in 
sunlight, an old garden of gorgeous flowers and emerald 
lawns, ponds with golden lilies and thick yew hedges 
— a garden where peacocks stepped indolently and 
groups of gay people fantastically dressed quarrelled 
and fought with swords. That is what he saw. And 
he saw it so vividly that, when the vapours of the drug 
passed from his brain and he waked, he seemed to be 
coming out of the real world into a world of shifting 
illusions." 

Hanaud's strong quiet voice stopped, and for a 
while there was a complete silence in the room. Neither 

33 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

of the two men stirred so much as a finger. Mr. Ricar- 
do once more was conscious of the thrill of strange 
sensations. He looked round the room. He could 
hardly believe that a room which had been — nay 
was — the home and shrine of mysteries in the dark 
hours could wear so bright and innocent a freshness 
in the sunlight of the morning. There should be some- 
thing sinister which leaped to the eyes as you crossed 
the threshold. 

"Out of the real world," Mr. Ricardo quoted. "I 
begin to see." 

"Yes, you begin to see, my friend, that we must 
be very careful not to make the big fools of ourselves. 
My friend of the College de France saw a garden. But 
had he been sitting alone in the window-seat where 
you are, listening through a summer night to the 
music of the masquerade at the Semiramis, might he 
not have seen the ballroom, the dancers, the scarlet 
cloak, and the rest of this story?" 

"You mean," cried Ricardo, now fairly startled, 
"that Calladine came to us with the fumes of mescal 
still working in his brain, that the false world was 
the real one still for him." 

"I do not know," said Hanaud. "At present I 
only put questions. I ask them of you. I wish to 
hear how they sound. Let us reason this problem out. 
Calladine, let us say, takes a great deal more of the 
drug tha '! my professor. It will have on him a more 

34 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

powerful effect while it lasts, and it will last longer. 
Fancy dress balls are familiar things to Calladine. 
The music floating from the Semiramis will revive 
old memories. He sits here, the pageant takes shape 
before him, he sees himself taking his part in it. Oh, 
he is happier here sitting quietly in his window-seat 
than if he was actually at the Semiramis. For he is 
there more intensely, more vividly, more really, than 
if he had actually descended this staircase. He lives 
his story through, the story of a heated brain, the 
scene of it changes in the way dreams have, it be- 
comes tragic and sinister, it oppresses him with horror, 
and in the morning, so obsessed with it that he does 
not think to change his clothes, he is knocking at 
your door." 

Mr. Ricardo raised his eyebrows and moved. 

"Ah! You see a flaw in my argument," said Ha- 
naud. But Mr. Ricardo was wary. Too often in other 
days he had been leaped upon and trounced for a 
careless remark. 

"Let me hear the end of your argument," he said. 
"There was then to your thinking no temptation of 
jewels, no theft, no murder — in a word, no Celymene ? 
She was born of recollections and the music of the 
Semiramis." 

" No ! " cried Hanaud. " Come with me, my friend. 
I am not so sure that there was no Celymene." 

With a smile upon his face, Hanaud led the way 
35 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

across the room. He had the dramatic instinct, and 
rejoiced in it. He was going to produce a surprise 
for his companion and, savouring the moment in ad- 
vance, he managed his effects. He walked towards 
the mantelpiece and stopped a few paces away from 
it. 

"Look!" 

Mr. Ricardo looked and saw a broad Adams mantel- 
piece. He turned a bewildered face to his friend. 

"You see nothing?" Hanaud asked. 

"Nothing!" 

"Look again! I am not sure — but is it not that 
Celymene is posing before you?" 

Mr. Ricardo looked again. There was nothing to 
fix his eyes. He saw a book or two, a cup, a vase or 
two, and nothing else really expect a very pretty and 
apparently valuable piece of — and suddenly Mr. 
Ricardo understood. Straight in front of him, in the 
very centre of the mantelpiece, a figure in painted 
china was leaning against a china stile. It was the 
figure of a perfectly impossible courtier, feminine and 
exquisite as could be, and apparelled also even to the 
scarlet heels exactly as Calladine had described Joan 
Carew. 

Hanaud chuckled with satisfaction when he saw 
the expression upon Mr. Ricardo's face. 

"Ah, you understand," he said. "Do you dream, 
my friend? At times — yes, like the rest of us. Then 

36 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

recollect your dreams? Things, people, which you 
have seen perhaps that day, perhaps months ago, 
pop in and out of them without making themselves 
prayed for. You cannot understand why. Yet some- 
times they cut their strange capers there, logically, 
too, through subtle associations which the dreamer, 
once awake, does not apprehend. Thus, our friend 
here sits in the window, intoxicated by his drug, the 
music plays in the Semiramis, the curtain goes up in 
the heated theatre of his brain. He sees himself step 
upon the stage, and who else meets him but the china 
figure from his mantelpiece?" 

Mr. Ricardo for a moment was all enthusiasm. 
Then his doubt returned to him. 

" What you say, my dear Hanaud, is very ingenious. 
The figure upon the mantelpiece is also extremely 
convincing. And I should be absolutely convinced 
but for one thing." 

"Yes?" said Hanaud, watching his friend closely. 

"I am — I may say it, I think, a man of the world. 
And I ask myself" — Mr. Ricardo never could ask 
himself anything without assuming a manner of ex- 
treme pomposity — "I ask myself, whether a young man 
who has given up his social ties, who has become a 
hermit, and still more who has become the slave of a 
drug, would retain that scrupulous carefulness of his 
body which is indicated by dressing for dinner when 
alone?" 

37 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Hanaud struck the table with the palm of his hand 
and sat down in a chair. 

"Yes. That is the weak point in my theory. You 
have hit it. I knew it was there — that weak point, 
and I wondered whether you would seize it. Yes, 
the consumers of drugs are careless, untidy — even 
unclean as a rule. But not always. We must be 
careful. We must wait.'* 

"For what?" asked Ricardo, beaming with pride. 

"For the answer to a telephone message," replied 
Hanaud, with a nod towards the door. 

Both men waited impatiently until Calladine came 
into the room. He wore now a suit of blue serge, he 
had a clearer eye, his skin a healthier look; he was 
altogether a more reputable person. But he was 
plainly very ill at ease. He offered his visitors ciga- 
rettes, he proposed refreshments, he avoided entirely 
and awkwardly the object of their visit. Hanaud 
smiled. His theory was working out. Sobered by his 
bath, Calladine had realised the foolishness of which 
he had been guilty. 

"You telephone, to the Semiramis, of course?" 
said Hanaud cheerfully. 

Calladine grew red. 

"Yes," he stammered. 

"Yet I did not hear that volume of 'Hallos' which 
precedes telephonic connection in your country of 
leisure," Hanaud continued. 

38 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"I telephoned from my bedroom. You would not 
hear anything in this room." 

"Yes, yes; the walls of these old houses are solid." 
Hanaud was playing with his victim. "And when 
may we expect Miss Carew?" 

" I can't say," replied Calladine. " It's very strange. 
She is not in the hotel. I am afraid that she has gone 
away, fled." 

Mr. Ricardo and Hanaud exchanged a look. They 
were both satisfied now. There was no word of truth 
in Calladine's story. 

"Then there is no reason for us to wait," said Ha- 
naud. " I shall have my holiday after all." And while 
he was yet speaking the voice of a newsboy calling 
out the first edition of an evening paper became dis- 
tantly audible. Hanaud broke off his farewell. For 
a moment he listened, with his head bent. Then the 
voice was heard again, confused, indistinct; Hanaud 
picked up his hat and cane and, without another 
word to Calladine, raced down the stairs. Mr. Ricardo 
followed him, but when he reached the pavement, 
Hanaud was half down the little street. At the corner, 
however, he stopped, and Ricardo joined him, cough- 
ing and out of breath. 

"What's the matter?" he gasped. 

"Listen," said Hanaud. 

At the bottom of Duke Street, by Charing Cross 
Station, the newsboy was shouting his wares. Both 

39 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

men listened, and now the words came to them mis- 
pronounced but decipherable. 

"Mysterious crime at the Semiramis Hotel.'* 

Ricardo stared at his companion. 

"You were wrong then!" he cried* "Calladine's 
story was true." 

For once in a way Hanaud was quite disconcerted. 

"I don't know yet," he said. "We will buy 
a paper." 

But before he could move a step a taxi-cab turned 
into the Adelphi from the Strand, and wheeling in 
front of their faces, stopped at Calladine's door. From 
the cab a girl descended. 

"Let us go back," said Hanaud. 

HI 

Mr. Ricardo could no longer complain. It was 
half-past eight when Calladine had first disturbed 
the formalities of his house in Grosvenor Square. It 
was barely ten now, and during that short time he 
had been flung from surprise to surprise, he had looked 
underground on a morning of fresh summer, and had 
been thrilled by the contrast between the queer, sinister 
life below and within and the open call to joy of the 
green world above. He had passed from incredulity 
to belief, from belief to incredulity, and when at last 
incredulity was firmly established, and the story to 

40 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

which he had Ustened proved the emanation of a 
drugged and heated brain, lo ! the facts buffeted him 
in the face, and the story was shown to be true. 

"I am alive once more,'^ Mr. Ricardo thought as 
he turned back with Hanaud, and in his excitement 
he cried his thought aloud. 

"Are you?" said Hanaud. "And what is life with- 
out a newspaper? If you will buy one from that 
remarkably raucous boy at the bottom of the street 
I will keep an eye upon Calladine's house till you 
come back." 

Mr. Ricardo sped down to Charing Cross and 
brought back a copy of the fourth edition of the Star. 
He handed it to Hanaud, who stared at it doubt- 
fully, folded as it was. 

"Shall we see what it says?" Ricardo asked im- 
patiently. 

"By no means," Hanaud answered, waking from 
his reverie and tucking briskly away the paper into 
the tail pocket of his coat. " We will hear what Miss 
Joan Carew has to saj^, with our minds undisturbed 
by any discoveries. I was wondering about something 
totally different." 

"Yes?" Mr. Ricardo encouraged him. "What 
was it?" 

"I was wondering, since it is only ten o'clock, at 
what hour the first editions of the evening papers 
appear." 

41 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

" It is a question," Mr. Ricardo replied sententiously, 
"which the greatest minds have failed to answer." 

And they walked along the street to the house. The 
front door stood open during the day like the front 
door of any other house which is let off in sets of rooms. 
Hanaud and Ricardo went up the staircase and rang 
the bell of Calladine's door. A middle-aged woman 
opened it. 

"Mr. Calladine is in?" said Hanaud. 

"I will ask," replied the woman. "What name 
shall I say?" 

"It does not matter. I will go straight in," said 
Hanaud quietly. "I was here with my friend but a 
minute ago." 

He went straight forward and into Calladine's 
parlour. Mr. Ricardo looked over his shoulder as he 
opened the door and saw a girl turn to them suddenly 
a white face of terror, and flinch as though already 
she felt the hand of a constable upon her shoulder. 
Calladine, on the other hand, uttered a cry of relief. 

"These are my friends," he exclaimed to the girl, 
"the friends of whom I spoke to you"; and to Ha- 
naud he said: "This is Miss Carew." 

Hanaud bowed. 

"You shall tell me your story, mademoiselle," he 
said very gently, and a little colour returned to the 
girl's cheeks, a little courage revived in her. 

"But you have heard it," she answered. 

"Not from you," said Hanaud. 
42 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

So for a second time in that room she told the his- 
tory of that night. Only this time the sunlight was 
warm upon the world, the comfortable sounds of life's 
routine were borne through the windows, and the girl 
herself wore the inconspicuous blue serge of a thou- 
sand other girls afoot that morning. These trifles 
of circumstance took the edge of sheer horror off her 
narrative, so that, to tell the truth, Mr. Ricardo was 
a trifle disappointed. He wanted a crescendo motive 
in his music, whereas it had begun at its fortissimo. 
Hanaud, however, was the perfect listener. He lis- 
tened without stirring and with most compassionate 
eyes, so that Joan Carew spoke only to him, and to 
him, each moment that passed, with greater confidence. 
The life and sparkle of her had gone altogether. There 
was nothing in her manner now to suggest the way- 
wardness, the gay irresponsibility, the radiance, which 
had attracted Calladine the night before. She was 
just a very young and very pretty girl, telling in a 
low and remorseful voice of the tragic dilemma to 
which she had brought herself. Of Celymene all that 
remained was something exquisite and fragile in her 
beauty, in the slimness of her figure, in her daintiness 
of hand and foot — something almost of the hot-house. 
But the story she told was, detail for detail, the same 
which Calladine had already related. 

"Thank you," said Hanaud when she had done. 
"Now I must ask you two questions." 

"I will answer them." 

43 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Mr. Ricardo sat up. He began to think of a third 
question which he might put himself, something un- 
commonly subtle and searching, which Hanaud would 
never have thought of. But Hanaud put his ques- 
tions, and Ricardo almost jumped out of his chair. 

"You will forgive me. Miss Carew. But have you 
ever stolen before?" 

Joan Carew turned upon Hanaud with spirit. Then 
a change swept over her face. 

"You have a right to ask," she answered. "Never." 
She looked into his eyes as she answered. Hanaud 
did not move. He sat with a hand upon each knee 
and led to his second question. 

"Early this morning, when you left this room, you 
told Mr. Calladine that you would wait at the Semir- 
amis until he telephoned to you ? " 

"Yes." 

"Yet when he telephoned, you had gone out?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"I will tell you," said Joan Carew. "I could not 
bear to keep the little diamond chain in my room.." 

For a moment even Hanaud was surprised. He had 
lost sight of that complication. Now he leaned for- 
ward anxiously; indeed, with a greater anxiety than 
he had yet shown in all this affair. 

"I was terrified," continued Joan Carew. "I kept 
thinking: *They must have found out by now. They 

44 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

will search everywhere/ I didn't reason. I lay in 
bed expecting to hear every moment a loud knocking 
on the door. Besides — the chain itself being there in 
my bedroom — her chain — the dead woman's chain — 
no, I couldn't endure it. I felt as if I had stolen it. 
Then my maid brought in my tea." 

"You had locked it away?" cried Hanaud. 

"Yes. My maid did not see it." 

Joan Carew explained how she had risen, dressed, 
wrapped the chain in a pad of cotton-wool and en- 
closed it in an envelope. The envelope had not the 
stamp of the hotel upon it. It was a rather large 
envelope, one of a packet which she had bought in a 
crowded shop in Oxford Street on her way from Euston 
to the Semiramis. She had bought the envelopes of 
that particular size in order that when she sent her 
letter of introduction to the Director of the Opera at 
Covent Garden she might enclose with it a photo- 
graph. 

"And to whom did you send it?" asked Mr. Ri- 
cardo. 

"To Mrs. Blumenstein at the Semiramis. I printed 
the address carefully. Then I went out and posted 
it." 

"Where?" Hanaud inquired. 

" In the big letter-box of the Post Office at the corner 
of Trafalgar Square." 

Hanaud looked at the girl sharply. 
45 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"You had your wits about you, I see," he said. 

"What if the envelope gets lost?" said Ricardo. 

Hanuad laughed grimly. 

" If one envelope is delivered at its address in London 
to-day, it will be that one," he said. "The news of 
the crime is published, you see," and he swung round 
to Joan. 

"Did you know that. Miss Carew?" 

"No," she answered in an awe-stricken voice. 

"Well, then, it is. Let us see what the special 
investigator has to say about it." And Hanaud, with 
a deliberation which Mr. Ricardo found quite ex- 
cruciating, spread out the newspaper on the table 
in front of him. 



IV 

There was only one new fact in the couple of columns 
devoted to the mystery. Mrs. Blumenstein had died 
from chloroform poisoning. She was of a stout habit, 
and the thieves were not skilled in the administration 
of the anaesthetic. 

"It's murder none the less," said Hanaud, and he 
gazed straight at Joan, asking her by the direct sum- 
mons of his eyes what she was going to do. 

"I must tell my story to the police," she replied 
painfully and slowly. But she did not hesitate; she 
was announcing a meditated plan. 

46 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Hanaud neither agreed nor differed. His face was 
blank, and when he spoke there was no eordiahty in 
his voice. "Well," he asked, "and what is it that 
you have to say to the police, miss? That you went 
into the room to steal, and that you were attacked by 
two strangers, dressed as apaches, and masked ? That 
is all?" 

"Yes." 

"And how many men at the Semiramis ball were 
dressed as apaches and wore masks? Come! Make 
a guess. A hundred at the least?" 

"I should think so." 

"Then what will your confession do beyond — I 
quote your English idiom — putting you in the coach ? " 

Mr. Ricardo now smiled with relief. Hanaud was 
taking a definite line. His knowledge of idiomatic 
English might be incomplete, but his heart was in the 
right place. The girl traced a vague pattern on the 
tablecloth with her fingers. 

"Yet I think I must tell the police," she repeated, 
looking up and dropping her eyes again. Mr. Ricardo 
noticed that her eyelashes were very long. For the 
first time Hanaud's face relaxed. 

"And I think you are quite right," he cried heartily, 
to Mr. Ricardo^s surprise. "Tell them the truth be- 
fore they suspect it, and they will help you out of the 
affair if they can. Not a doubt of it. Come, I will 
go with you myself to Scotland Yard." 

47 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"Thank you/' said Joan, and the pair drove away 
in a cab together. 

Hanaud returned to Grosvenor Square alone and 
lunched with Ricardo. 

"It was all right," he said. "The police were very 
kind. Miss Joan Carew told her story to them as she 
had told it to us. Fortunately, the envelope with 
the aluminium chain had already been delivered, and 
was in their hands. They were much mystified about 
it, but Miss Joan's story gave them a reasonable ex- 
planation. I think they are inclined to believe her; 
and, if she is speaking the truth, they will keep her 
out of the witness-box if they can." 

"She is to stay here in London, then?" asked Ri- 
cardo. 

"Oh, yes; she is not to go. She will present her 
letters at the Opera House and secure an engage- 
ment, if she can. The criminals might be lulled 
thereby into a belief that the girl had kept the whole 
strange incident to herself, and that there was nowhere 
even a knowledge of the disguise which they had 
used." Hanaud spoke as carelessly as if the matter 
was not very important; and Ricardo, with an un- 
usual flash of shrewdness, said: 

" It is clear, my friend, that you do not think those 
two men will ever be caught at all." 

Hanaud shrugged his shoulders. 

"There is always a chance. But listen. There is 
48 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

a room with a hundred guns, one of which is loaded. 
Outside the room there are a hundred pigeons, one of 
which is white. You are taken into the room bUnd- 
fold. You choose the loaded gun and you shoot the 
one white pigeon. That is the value of the chance." 

"But," exclaimed Ricardo, "those pearls were of 
great value, and I have heard at a trial expert evidence 
given by pearl merchants. All agree that the pearls 
of great value are known; so, when they come upon 
the market " 

"That is true," Hanaud interrupted imperturbably. 
"But how are they known?" 

"By their weight," said Mr. Ricardo. 

"Exactly," replied Hanaud. "But did you not 
also hear at this trial of yours that pearls can be peeled 
like an onion? No? It is true. Remove a skin, 
two skins, the weight is altered, the pearl is a trifle 
smaller. It has lost a little of its value, yes — but 
you can no longer identify it as the so-and-so pearl 
which belonged to this or that sultan, was stolen by 
the vizier, bought by Messrs. Lustre and Steinopolis, 
of Hatton Garden, and subsequently sold to the 
wealthy Mrs. Blumenstein. No, your pearl has 
vanished altogether. There is a new pearl which can 
be traded." He looked at Ricardo. "Who shall say 
that those pearls are not already in one of the queer 
little back streets of Amsterdam, undergoing their 
transformation?" 

49 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Mr. Ricardo was not persuaded because he would 
not be. "I have some experience in these matters," 
he said loftily to Hanaud. "I am sure that we shall 
lay our hands upon the criminals. We have never 
failed." 

Hanaud grinned from ear to ear. The only experi- 
ence which Mr. Ricardo had ever had was gained on 
the shores of Geneva and at Aix under Hanaud's 
tuition. But Hanaud did not argue, and there the 
matter rested. 

The days flew by. It was London's play-time. 
The green and gold of early summer deepened and 
darkened; wondrous warm nights under England's 
pale blue sky, when the streets rang with the joyous 
feet of youth, led in clear dawns and lovely glowing 
days. Hanaud made acquaintance with the wooded 
reaches of the Thames; Joan Carew sang "Ix)uise" 
at Covent Garden with notable success; and the 
affair of the Semiramis Hotel, in the minds of the few 
who remembered it, was already added to the long 
list of unfathomed mysteries. 

But towards the end of May there occurred a star- 
tling development. Joan Carew wrote to Mr. Ricardo 
that she would call upon him in the afternoon, and she 
begged him to secure the presence of Hanaud. She 
came as the clock struck; she was pale and agitated; 
and in the room where Calladine had first told the 
story of her visit she told another story which, to Mr. 

50 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Ricardo's thinking, was yet more strange and — yes — 
yet more suspicious. 

"It has been going on for some time," she began. 
"I thought of coming to you at once. Then I won- 
dered whether, if I waited — oh, you'll never believe 
me!" 

"Let us hear!" said Hanaud patiently. 

"I began to dream of that room, the two men dis- 
guised and masked, the still figure in the bed. Night 
after night I I was terrified to go to sleep. I felt the 
hand upon my mouth. I used to catch myself falling 
asleep, and walk about the room with all the lights 
up to keep myself awake." 

"But you couldn't," said Hanaud with a smile. 
"Only the old can do that." 

"No, I couldn't," she admitted; "and — oh, my 
nights were horrible until" — she paused and looked 
at her companions doubtfully — "until one night the 
mask slipped." 

"What — ?" cried Hanaud, and a note of sternness 
rang suddenly in his voice. "What are you saying?" 

With a desperate rush of words, and the colour 
staining her forehead and cheeks, Joan Carew con- 
tinued : 

" It is true. The mask slipped on the face of one of 
the men — of the man who held me. Only a little way; 
it just left his forehead visible — no more." 

"Well?" asked Hanaud, and Mr. Ricardo leaned 
51 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

forward, swaying between the austerity of criticism 
and the desire to believe so thrilling a revelation. 

"I waked up/' the girl continued, "in the darkness, 
and for a moment the whole scene remained vividly 
with me — for just long enough for me to fix clearly 
in my mind the figure of the apache with the white 
forehead showing above the mask." 

"When was that?" asked Ricardo. 

"A fortnight ago." 

"Why didn't you come with your story then?" 

"I waited," said Joan. "What I had to tell wasn't 
yet helpful. I thought that another night the mask 
might slip lower still. Besides, I — it is difficult to 
describe just what I felt. I felt it important just to 
keep that photograph in my mind, not to think about 
it, not to talk about it, not even to look at it too often 
lest I should begin to imagine the rest of the face and 
find something familiar in the man's carriage and 
shape when there was nothing really familiar to me 
at all. Do you understand that?" she asked, with 
her eyes fixed in appeal on Hanaud's face. 

"Yes," replied Hanaud. "I follow your thought." 

"I thought there was a chance now — the strangest 
chance — that the truth might be reached. I did not 
wish to spoil it," and she turned eagerly to Ricardo, 
as if, having persuaded Hanaud, she would now turn 
her batteries on his companion. "My whole point of 
view was changed. I was no longer afraid of falling 

52 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

asleep lest I should dream. I wished to dream, 
but " 

"But you could not," suggested Hanaud. 

"No, that is the truth," replied Joan Carew. 
"Whereas before I was anxious to keep awake and 
yet must sleep from sheer fatigue, now that I tried 
consciously to put myself to sleep I remained awake 
all through the night, and only towards morning, 
when the light was coming through the blinds, dropped 
off into a heavy, dreamless slumber." 

Hanaud nodded. 

" It is a very perverse world, Miss Carew, and things 
go by contraries." 

Ricardo listened for some note of irony in Hanaud's 
voice, some look of disbelief in his face. But there 
was neither the one nor the other. Hanaud was lis- 
tening patiently. 

"Then came my rehearsals," Joan Carew continued, 
"and that wonderful opera drove everything else out 
of my head. I had such a chance, if only I could 
make use of it! When I went to bed now, I went 
with that haunting music in my ears — the call of 
Paris — oh, you must remember it. But can you real- 
ise what it must mean to a girl who is going to sing it 
for the first time in Covent Garden ? " 

Mr. Ricardo saw his opportunity. He, the con- 
noisseur, to whom the psychology of the green room 
was as an open book, could answer that question. 

53 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"It is true, my friend," he informed Hanaud with 
quiet authority. "The great march of events leaves 
the artist 'cold. He lives aloof. While the tumbrils 
thunder in the streets he adds a delicate tint to the 
picture he is engaged upon or recalls his triumph in 
his last great part." 

"Thank you," said Hanaud gravely. "And now 
Miss Carew may perhaps resume her story." 

"It was the very night of my debut," she continued. 
"I had supper with some friends. A great artist. 
Carmen Valeri, honoured me with her presence. I 
went home excited, and that night I dreamed again." 

"Yes?" 

"This time the chin, the lips, the eyes were visible. 
There was only a black strip across the middle of the 
face. And I thought — nay, I was sure — that if that 
strip vanished I should know the man." 

"And it did vanish?" 

"Three nights afterwards." 

" And you did know the man ? " 

The girl's face became troubled. She frowned. 

"I knew the face, that was all," she answered. ''I 
was disappointed. I had never spoken to the man. 
I am sure of that still. But somewhere I have seen 
him." 

"You don't even remember when?" asked Hanaud. 

"No." Joan Carew reflected for a moment with 
her eyes upon the carpet, and then flung up her head 

54 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

with a gesture of despair. " No. I try all the time to 
remember. But it is no good.'* 

Mr. Ricardo could not restrain a movement of in- 
dignation. He was being played with. The girl with 
her fantastic story had worked him up to a real pitch 
of excitement only to make a fool of him. All his 
earlier suspicions flowed back into his mind. What if, 
after all, she was implicated in the murder and the 
theft? What if, with a perverse cunning, she had 
told Hanaud and himself just enough of what she 
knew, just enough of the truth, to persuade them to 
protect her ? What if her frank confession of her own 
overpowering impulse to steal the necklace was noth- 
ing more than a subtle appeal to the sentimental pity 
of men, an appeal based upon a wider knowledge of 
men's weaknesses than a girl of nineteen or twenty 
ought to have? Mr. Ricardo cleared his throat and 
sat forward in his chair. He was girding himself for 
a singularly searching interrogatory when Hanaud 
asked the most irrelevant of questions: 

"How did you pass the evening of that night when 
you first dreamed complete the face of your assailant ? '* 

Joan Carew reflected. Then her face cleared. 

"I know," she exclaimed. "I was at the opera." 

"And what was being given?" 

" The Jewels of the Madonna.'' 

Hanaud nodded his head. To Ricardo it seemed 
that he had expected precisely that answer. 

55 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"Now," he continued, "you are sure that you have 
seen this man?" 

"Yes." 

"Very well," said Hanaud. "There is a game you 
play at children's parties — is there not? — animal, 
vegetable, or mineral, and always you get the an- 
swer. Let us play that game for a few minutes, you 
and I." 

Joan Carew drew up her chair to the table and sat 
with her chin propped upon her hands and her eyes 
fixed on Hanaud's face. As he put each question she 
pondered on it and answered. If she answered doubt- 
fully he pressed it. 

"You crossed on the Lucania from New York?" 

"Yes." 

"Picture to yourself the dining-room, the tables. 
You have the picture quite clear ? " 

"Yes." 

"Was it at breakfast that you saw him?" 

"No." 

"At luncheon?" 

"No." 

"At dinner?" 

She paused for a moment, summoning before her 
eyes the travellers at the tables. 

"No." 

"Not in the dining-table at all, then?" 

"No." 

56 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

"In the library, when you were writing letters, did 
you not one day lift your head and see him ? " 

"No." 

"On the promenade deck? Did he pass you when 
you sat in your deck-chair, or did you pass him when 
he sat in his chair ? " 

"No." 

Step by step Hanaud took her back to New York 
to her hotel, to journeys in the train. Then he car- 
ried her to Milan where she had studied. It was 
extraordinary to Ricardo to realise how much Hanaud 
knew of the curriculum of a student aspiring to grand 
opera. From Milan he brought her again to New 
York, and at the last, with a start of joy, she cried: 
"Yes, it was there." 

Hanaud took his handkerchief from his pocket and 
wiped his forehead. 

"Ouf !" he grunted. "To concentrate the mind on 
a day like this, it makes one hot, I can tell you. Now, 
Miss Carew, let us hear." 

It was at a concert at the house of a Mrs. Starling- 
shield in Fifth Avenue and in the afternoon. Joan 
Carew sang. She was a stranger to New York and 
very nervous. She saw nothing but a mist of faces 
whilst she sang, but when she had finished the mist 
cleared, and as she left the improvised stage she saw 
the man. He was standing against the wall in a 
line of men. There was no particular reason why her 

57 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

eyes should single him out, except that he was pay- 
ing no attention to her singing, and, indeed, she for- 
got him altogether afterwards. 

"I just happened to see him clearly and distinctly,'* 
she said. "He was tall, clean-shaven, rather dark, 
not particularly young — thirty-five or so, I should say 
— a man with a heavy face and beginning to grow 
stout. He moved away whilst I was bowing to the 
audience, and I noticed him afterwards walking about, 
talking to people." 

"Do you remember to whom?" 

"No." 

" Did he notice you, do you think ? " 

" I am sure he didn't," the girl replied emphatically. 
"He never looked at the stage where I was singing, 
and he never looked towards me afterwards." 

She gave, so far as she could remember, the names 
of such guests and singers as she knew at that party. 
"And that is all," she said. 

"Thank you," said Hanaud. "It is perhaps a 
good deal. But it is perhaps nothing at all." 

"You will let me hear from you?" she cried, as 
she rose to her feet. 

"Miss Carew, I am at your service," he returned. 
She gave him her hand timidly and he took it cor- 
dially. For Mr. Ricardo she had merely a bow, a 
bow which recognised that he distrusted her and that 
she had no right to be offended. Then she went, and 
Hanaud smiled across the table at Ricardo. 

58 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAjVIIS HOTEL 

**Yes/' he said, "all that you are thinking is true 
enough. A man who slips out of society to indulge 
a passion for a drug in greater peace, a girl who, on 
her own confession, tried to steal, and, to crown all, 
this fantastic story. It is natural to disbelieve every 
word of it. But we disbelieved before, when we left 
Calladine's lodging in the Adelphi, and we were wrong. 
Let us be warned. '* 

"You have an idea?" exclaimed Ricardo. 

"Perhaps!" said Hanaud. And he looked down 
the theatre column of the Times. "Let us distract 
ourselves by going to the theatre." 

"You are the most irritating man!" Mr. Ricardo 
broke out impulsively. "If I had to paint your por- 
trait, I should paint you with your finger against the 
side of your nose, saying mysteriously: '7 know,' when 
you know nothing at all." 

Hanaud made a schoolboy's grimace. "We will go 
and sit in your box at the opera to-night," he said, 
"and you shall explain to me all through the beauti- 
ful music the theory of the tonic sol-fa." 

They reached Covent Garden before the curtain 
rose. Mr. Ricardo's box was on the lowest tier and 
next to the omnibus box. 

"We are near the stage," said Hanaud, as he took 
his seat in the corner and so arranged the curtain that 
he could see and yet was hidden from view. "I like 
that." 

The theatre was full; stalls and boxes shimmered 
59 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

with jewels and satin, and all that was famous that 
season for beauty and distinction had made its tryst 
there that night. 

"Yes, this is wonderful," said Hanaud. "What 
opera do they play?" He glanced at his programme 
and cried, with a little start of surprise: "We are in 
luck. It is The Jewels of the Madonna J ^ 

"Do you believe in omens?" Mr. Ricardo asked 
coldly. He had not yet recovered from his rebuff of 
the afternoon. 

"No, but I believe that Carmen Valeri is at her 
best in this part," said Hanaud. 

Mr. Ricardo belonged to that body of critics which 
must needs spoil your enjoyment by comparisons and 
recollections of other great artists. He was at a dis- 
advantage certainly to-night, for the opera was new. 
But he did his best. He imagined others in the part, 
and when the great scene came at the end of the 
second act, and Carmen Valeri, on obtaining from 
her lover the jewels stolen from the sacred image, gave 
such a display of passion as fairly enthralled that 
audience, Mr. Ricardo sighed quietly and patiently. 

"How Calve would have brought out the psycho- 
logical value of that scene!" he murmured; and he 
was quite vexed with Hanaud, who sat with his opera 
glasses held to his eyes, and every sense apparently 
concentrated on the stage. The curtains rose and rose 
again when the act was concluded, and still Hanaud 

60 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

sat motionless as the Sphynx, staring through his 
glasses. 

"That is all," said Ricardo when the curtains fell 
for the fifth time. 

"They will come out," said Hanaud. "Wait!" 
And from between the curtains Carmen Valeri was 
led out into the full glare of the footlights with the 
panoply of jewels flashing on her breast. Then at 
last Hanaud put down his glasses and turned to Ri- 
cardo with a look of exultation and genuine delight 
upon his face which filled that season-worn dilettante 
with envy. 

" What a night ! " said Hanaud. " What a wonderful 
night!" And he applauded until he split his gloves. 
At the end of the opera he cried : " We will go and take 
supper at the Semiramis. Yes, my friend, we will 
finish our evening like gallant gentlemen. Come! 
Let us not think of the morning." And boisterously 
he slapped Ricardo in the small of the back. 

In spite of his boast, however, Hanaud hardly 
touched his supper, and he played with, rather than 
drank, his brandy and soda. He had a little table to 
which he was accustomed beside a glass screen in the 
depths of the room, and he sat with his back to the 
wall watching the groups which poured in. Suddenly 
his face lighted up. 

"Here is Carmen Valeri!" he cried. "Once more 
we are in luck. Is it not that she is beautiful ? " 

61 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Mr. Ricardo turned languidly about in his chair 
and put up his eyeglass. 

"So, so," he said. 

"Ah!" returned Hanaud. "Then her companion 
will interest you still more. For he is the man who 
murdered Mrs. Blumenstein." 

Mr. Ricardo jumped so that his eyeglass fell down 
and tinkled on its cord against the buttons of his 
waistcoat. 

"What!" he exclaimed. "It's impossible!" He 
looked again. "Certainly the man fits Joan Carew's 
description. But — " He turned back to Hanaud ut- 
terly astounded. And as he looked at the French- 
man all his earlier recollections of him, of his swift 
deductions, of the subtle imagination which his heavy 
body so well concealed, crowded in upon Ricardo and 
convinced him. 

"How long have you known?" he asked in a whis- 
per of awe. 

"Since ten o'clock to-night." 

"But you will have to find the necklace before you 
can prove it." 

"The necklace!" said Hanaud carelessly. "That is 
already found. '^ 

Mr. Ricardo had been longing for a thrill. He had 
it now. He felt it in his very spine. 

"It's found?" he said in a startled whisper. 

"Yes." 

62 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Ricardo turned again, with as much indifference as 
he could assume, towards the couple who were settling 
down at their table, the man with a surly indifference, 
Carmen Valeri with the radiance of a woman who has 
just achieved a triumph and is now free to enjoy the 
fruits of it. Confusedly, recollections returned to 
Ricardo of questions put that afternoon by Hanaud 
to Joan Carew — subtle questions into which the name 
of Carmen Valeri was continually entering. She was 
a woman of thirty, certainly beautiful, with a clear, 
pale face and eyes like the night. 

"Then she is implicated too!" he said. What a 
change for her, he thought, from the stage of Covent 
Garden to the felon's cell, from the gay supper-room 
of the Semiramis, with its bright frocks and its babel 
of laughter, to the silence and the ignominious garb 
of the workrooms in Aylesbury Prison ! 

"She!" exclaimed Hanaud; and in his passion for 
the contrasts of drama Ricardo was almost disap- 
pointed. "She has nothing whatever to do with it. 
She knows nothing. Andre Favart there — yes. But 
Carmen Valeri ! She's as stupid as an owl, and loves 
him beyond words. Do you want to know how stupid 
she is? You shall know. I asked Mr. Clements, the 
director of the opera house, to take supper with us, 
and here he is." 

Hanaud stood up and shook hands with the director. 
He was of the world of business rather than of art, 

.63 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

and long experience of the ways of tenors and prima- 
donnas had given him a good-humoured cynicism. 

"They are spoilt children, all tantrums and vanity," 
he said, " and they would ruin you to keep a rival out 
of the theatre." 

He told them anecdote upon anecdote. 

"And Carmen Valeri," Hanaud asked in a pause; 
"is she troublesome this season?" 

"Has been," replied Clements dryly. "At present 
she is playing at being good. But she gave me a turn 
some weeks ago." He turned to Ricardo. "Super- 
stition's her trouble, and Andre Favart knows it. She 
left him behind in America this spring." 

"America!" suddenly cried Ricardo; so suddenly 
that Clements looked at him in surprise. 

" She was singing in New York, of course, during 
the winter," he returned. "Well, she left him behind, 
and I was shaking hands with myself when he began 
to deal the cards over there. She came to me in a 
panic. She had just had a cable. She couldn't sing 
on Friday night. There was a black knave next to 
the nine of diamonds. She wouldn't sing for worlds. 
And it was the first night of The Jewels of the Madonna! 
Imagine the fix I was in 1 " 

" What did you do ? " asked Ricardo. 

"The only thing there was to do," replied Clements 
with a shrug of the shoulders. " I cabled Favart some 
money and he dealt the cards again. She came to me 

64 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

beaming. Oh, she had been so distressed to put me 
in the cart ! But what could she do ? Now there was 
a red queen next to the ace of hearts, so she could 
sing without a scruple so long, of course, as she didn^t 
pass a funeral on the way down to the opera house. 
Luckily she didn't. But my money brought Favart 
over here, and now I'm living on a volcano. For he's 
the greatest scoundrel unhung. He never has a far- 
thing, however much she gives him; he's a blackmailer, 
he's a swindler, he has no manners and no graces, he 
looks like a butcher and treats her as if she were dirt, 
he never goes near the opera except when she is sing- 
ing in this part, and she worships the ground he walks 
on. Well, I suppose it's time to go." 

The lights had been turned off, the great room was 
emptying. Mr. Ricardo and his friends rose to go, 
but at the door Hanaud detained Mr. Clements, and 
they talked together alone for some little while, greatly 
to Mr. Ricardo's annoyance. Hanaud's good humour, 
however, when he rejoined his friend, was enough for 
two. 

"I apologise, my friend, with my hand on my heart. 
But it was for your sake that I stayed behind. You 
have a meretricious taste for melodrama which I 
deeply deplore, but which I mean to gratify. I ought 
to leave for Paris to-morrow, but I shall not. I shall 
stay until Thursday." And he skipped upon the 
pavement as they walked home to Grosvenor Square. 

65 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Mr. Ricardo bubbled with questions, but he knew 
his man. He would get no answer to any one of them 
to-night. So he worked out the problem for himself 
as he lay awake in his bed, and he came dow^n to 
breakfast next morning fatigued but triumphant. 
Hanaud was already chipping off the top of his egg at 
the table. 

"So I see you have found it all out, my friend,'' 
he said. 

"Not all,*' replied Ricardo modestly, "and you will 
not mind, I am sure, if I follow the usual custom and 
wish you a good morning." 

"Not at all," said Hanaud. "I am all for good 
manners myself." 

He dipped his spoon into his egg. 

" But I am longing to hear the line of your reasoning." 

Mr. Ricardo did not need much pressing. 

"Joan Carew saw Andre Favart at Mrs. Starling- 
shield's party, and saw him with Carmen Valeri. 
For Carmen Valeri was there. I remember that you 
asked Joan for the names of the artists who sang, 
and Carmen Valeri was amongst them." 

Hanaud nodded his head. 

"Exactly." 

"No doubt Joan Carew noticed Carmen Valeri 
particularly, and so took unconsciously into her mind 
an impression of the man who was with her, Andre 
Favart — of his build, of his walk, of his type." 

66 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Again Hanaud agreed. 

"She forgets the man altogether, but the picture 
remains latent in her mind — an undeveloped film." 

Hanaud looked up in surprise, and the surprise 
flattered Mr. Ricardo. Not for nothing had he tossed 
about in his bed for the greater part of the night. 

"Then came the tragic night at the Semiramis. 
She does not consciously recognise her assailant, but 
she dreams the scene again and again, and by a proc- 
ess of unconscious cerebration the figure of the man 
becomes familiar. Finally she makes her debut, is 
entertained at supper afterwards, and meets once 
more Carmen Valeri." 

"Yes, for the first time since Mrs. Starlingshield's 
party," interjected Hanaud. 

"She dreams again, she remembers asleep more 
than she remembers when awake. The presence of 
Carmen Valeri at her supper-party has its effect. 
By a process of association, she recalls Favart, and 
the mask slips on the face of her assailant. Some 
days later she goes to the opera. She hears Car- 
men Valeri sing in The Jewels of the Madonna. No 
doubt the passion of her acting, which I am more 
prepared to acknowledge this morning than I was 
last night, affects Joan Carew powerfully, emotionally. 
She goes to bed with her head full of Carmen Valeri, 
and she dreams not of Carmen Valeri, but of the man 
who is unconsciously associated with Carmen Valeri 

67 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

in her thoughts. The mask vanishes altogether. She 
sees her assailant now, has his portrait limned in her 
mind, would know him if she met him in the street, 
though she does not know by what means she identi- 
fied him," 

"Yes," said Hanaud. "It is curious the brain 
working while the body sleeps, the dream revealing 
what thought cannot recall." 

Mr. Ricardo was delighted. He was taken seriously. 

"But of course," he said, "I could not have worked 
the problem out but for you. You knew of Andre 
Favart and the kind of man he was." 

Hanaud laughed. 

"Yes. That is always my one little advantage. I 
know all the cosmopolitan blackguards of Europe." 
His laughter ceased suddenly, and he brought his 
clenched fist heavily down upon the table. "Here 
is one of them who will be very well out of the world, 
my friend," he said very quietly, but there was a 
look of force in his face and a hard light in his eyes 
which made Mr. Ricardo shiver. 

For a few moments there was silence. Then Ricardo 
asked: "But have you evidence enough?" 

"Yes." 

"Your two chief witnesses, Calladine and Joan 
Carew — you s,aid it yourself — there are facts to dis- 
credit them. Will they be believed?" 

"But they won't appear in the case at all," Ha- 
68 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

naud said. "Wait, wait!" and once more he smiled. 
"By the way, what is the number of Calladine's 
house?" 

Ricardo gave it, and Hanaud therefore wrote a 
letter. "It is all for your sake, my friend," he said 
with a chuckle. 

"Nonsense," said Ricardo. "You have the spirit 
of the theatre in your bones." 

"Well, I shall not deny it," said Hanaud, and he 
sent out the letter to the nearest pillar-box. 

Mr. Ricardo waited in a fever of impatience until 
Thursday came. At breakfast Hanaud would talk of 
nothing but the news of the day. At luncheon he was 
no better. The affair of the Semiramis Hotel seemed 
a thousand miles from any of his thoughts. But at 
five o'clock he said as he drank his tea: 

"You know, of course, that we go to the opera 
to-night?" 

"Yes. Do we?" 

"Yes. Your young friend Calladine, by the way, 
will join us in your box." 

"That is very kind of him, I am sure," said Mr. 
Ricardo. 

The two men arrived before the rising of the cur- 
tain, and in the crowded lobby a stranger spoke a 
few words to Hanaud, but what he said Ricardo could 
not hear. They took their seats in the box, and Ha- 
naud looked at his programme. 

69 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

" Ah ! It is II Ballo de Maschera to-night. We al- 
ways seem to hit upon something appropriate, don't 
we?" 

Then he raised his eyebrows. 

" Oh-o ! Do you see that our pretty young friend, 
Joan Carew, is singing in the role of the page ? It is 
a showy part. There is a particular melody with a 
long-sustained trill in it, as far as I remember." 

Mr. Ricardo was not deceived by Hanaud's ap- 
parent ignorance of the opera to be given that night 
and of the part Joan Carew was to take. He was, 
therefore, not surprised when Hanaud added: 

"By the way, I should let Calladine find it all out 
for himself." 

Mr. Ricardo nodded sagely. 

"Yes. That is wise. I had thought of it myself." 
But he had done nothing of the kind. He was only 
aware that the elaborate stage-management in which 
Hanaud delighted was working out to the desired 
climax, whatever that climax might be. Calladine 
entered the box a few minutes later and shook hands 
with them awkwardly. 

"It was kind of you to invite me," he said and, 
very ill at ease, he took a seat between them and 
concentrated his attention on the house as it filled 
up. 

"There's the overture," said Hanaud. The cur- 
tains divided and were festooned on either side of the 

70 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

stage. The singers came on in their turn; the page 
appeared to a burst of delicate applause (Joan Carew 
had made a small name for herself that season), and 
with a stifled cry Calladine shot back in the box as 
if he had been struck. Even then Mr. Ricardo did 
not understand. He only realised that Joan Carew 
was looking extraordinarily trim and smart in her 
boy's dress. He had to look from his programme to 
the stage and back again several times before the 
reason of Calladine's exclamation dawned on him. 
When it did, he was horrified. Hanaud, in his craving 
for dramatic effects, must have lost his head alto- 
gether. Joan Carew was wearing, from the ribbon in 
her hair to the scarlet heels of her buckled satin shoes, 
the same dress as she had worn on the tragic night at 
the Semiramis Hotel. He leaned forward in his agita- 
tion to Hanaud. 

"You must be mad. Suppose Favart is in the 
theatre and sees her. He'll be over on the Continent 
by one in the morning." 

"No, he won't," replied Hanaud. "For one thing, 
he never comes to Covent Garden unless one opera, 
with Carmen Valeri in the chief part, is being played, 
as you heard the other night at supper. For a second 
thing, he isn't in the house. I know where he is. He 
is gambling in Dean Street, Soho. For a third thing, 
my friend, he couldn't leave by the nine o'clock train 
for the Continent if he wanted to. Arrangements 

71 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

have been made. For a fourth thing, he wouldn^t 
wish to. He has really remarkable reasons for de- 
siring to stay in London. But he will come to the 
theatre later. Clements will send him an urgent 
message, with the result that he will go straight to 
Clements' office. Meanwhile, we can enjoy ourselves, 
eh?" 

Never was the difference between the amateur 
dilettante and the genuine professional more clearly 
exhibited than by the behaviour of the two men during 
the rest of the performance. Mr. Ricardo might have 
been sitting on a coal fire from his jumps and twist- 
ings; Hanaud stolidly enjoyed the music, and when 
Joan Carew sang her famous solo his hands clamoured 
for an encore louder than anyone's in the boxes. 
Certainly, whether excitement was keeping her up 
or no, Joan Carew had never sung better in her life. 
Her voice was clear and fresh as a bird's — a bird with 
a soul inspiring its song. Even Calladine drew his 
chair forward again and sat with his eyes fixed upon 
the stage and quite carried out of himself. He drew a 
deep breath at the end. 

"She is wonderful," he said, like a man waking up. 

"She is very good," repUed Mr. Ricardo, correcting 
Calladine' s transports. 

"We will go round to the back of the stage," said 
Hanaud. 

They passed through the iron door and across the 
72 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

stage to a long corridor with a row of doors on one 
side. There were two or three men standing about in 
evening dress, as if waiting for friends in the dressing- 
rooms. At the third door Hanaud stopped and 
knocked. The door was opened by Joan Carew, still 
dressed in her green and gold. Her face was troubled^ 
her eyes afraid. 

"Courage, little one," said Hanaud, and he slipped 
past her into the room. "It is as well that my ugly, 
familiar face should not be seen too soon.'' 

The door closed and one of the strangers loitered 
along the corridor and spoke to a call-boy. The call- 
boy ran off. For five minutes more Mr. Ricardo 
w^aited with a beating heart. He had the joy of a 
man in the centre of things. All those people driving 
homewards in their motor-cars along the Strand- 
how he pitied them ! Then, at the end of the corridor, 
he saw Clements and Andre Favart. They approached, 
discussing the possibility of Carmen Valerias appear- 
ance in London opera during the next season. 

"We have to look ahead, my dear friend," said 
Clements, "and though I should be extremely 
sorry " 

At that moment they were exactly opposite Joan 
Carew's door. It opened, she came out; with a nervous 
movement she shut the door behind her. At the sound 
Andre Favart turned, and he saw drawn up against 
the panels of the door, with a look of terror in her 

73 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

face, the same gay figure which had interrupted him 
in Mrs. Blumenstein's bedroom. There was no need 
for Joan to act. In the presence of this man her fear 
was as real as it had been on the night of the Semi- 
ramis ball. She trembled from head to foot. Her 
eyes closed; she seemed about to swoon. 

Favart stared and uttered an oath. His face turned 
white; he staggered back as if he had seen a ghost. 
Then he made a wild dash along the corridor, and 
was seized aitd held by two of the men in evening 
dress. Favart recovered his wits. He ceased to 
struggle. 

"What does this outrage mean?" he asked, and 
one of the men drew a warrant and notebook from his 
pocket. 

"You are arrested for the murder of Mrs. Blumen- 
stein in the Semiramis Hotel," he said, "and I have 
to warn you that anything you may say will be taken 
down and may be used in evidence against you." 

"Preposterous!" exclaimed Favart. "There's a 
mistake. We will go along to the police and put it 
right. Where's your evidence against me?" 

Hanaud stepped out of the doorway of the dressing- 
room. 

"In the property-room of the theatre," he said. 

At the sight of him Favart uttered a violent cry of 
rage. "You are here, too, are you?" he screamed, 
and he sprang at Hanaud's throat. Hanaud stepped 

74 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

lightly aside. Favart was borne down to the ground, 
and when he stood up again the handcuffs were on his 
wrists. 

Favart was led away, and Hanaud turned to Mr. 
Ricardo and Clements. 

"Let us go to the property-room," he said. They 
passed along the corridor, and Ricardo noticed that 
Calladine was no longer with them. He turned and 
saw him standing outside Joan Carew's dressing-room. 

"He would like to come, of course," said Ricardo. 

"Would he?" asked Hanaud. "Then why doesn't 
he ? He's quite grown up, you know," and he slipped 
his arm through Ricardo's and led him back across 
the stage. In the property-room there was already 
a detective in plain clothes. Mr. Ricardo had still 
not as yet guessed the truth. 

"What is it you really want, sir?" the property- 
master asked of the director. 

"Only the jewels of the Madonna," Hanaud an- 
swered. 

The property-master unlocked a cupboard and took 
from it the sparkling cuirass. Hanaud pointed to it, 
and there, lost amongst the huge glittering stones of 
paste and false pearls, Mrs. Blumenstein's necklace 
was entwined. 

"Then that is why Favart came always to Covent 
Garden when The Jeioels of the Madonna was being 
performed!" exclaimed Ricardo. 

75 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

Hanaud nodded. 

"He came to watch over his treasure." 

RIcardo was piecing together the sections of the 
puzzle. 

*'No doubt he knew of the necklace in America. 
No doubt he followed it to England." 

Hanaud agreed. 

"Mrs. Blumenstein's jewels were quite famous in 
New York." 

"But to hide them here!" cried Mr. Clements. 
"He must have been mad." 

"Why?" asked Hanaud. "Can you imagine a 
safer hiding-place? Who is going to burgle the prop- 
erty-room of Covent Garden? Who is going to look 
for a priceless string of pearls amongst the stage jewels 
of an opera house?" 

"You did," said Mr, Ricardo. 

"I?" replied Hanaud, shrugging his shoulders. 
"Joan Carew's dreams led me to Andre Favart. The 
first time we came here and saw the pearls of the 
Madonna, I was on the look-out, naturally. I no- 
ticed Favart at the back of the stalls. But it was a 
stroke of luck that I noticed those pearls through my 
opera glasses." 

"At the end of the second act?" cried Ricardo 
suddenly. "I remember now." 

"Yes," replied Hanaud. "But for that second act 
the pearls would have stayed comofrtably here all 

76 



THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL 

through the season. Carmen Valeri — a fool as I told 
you — would have tossed them about in her dressing- 
room without a notion of their value, and at the end 
of July, when the murder at the Semiramis Hotel had 
been forgotten, Favart would have taken them to 
Amsterdam and made his bargain." 

"Shall we go?" 

They left the theatre together and walked down to 
the grill-room of the Semiramis. But as Hanaud 
looked through the glass door he drew back. 

"We will not go in, I think, eh?" 

"Why?" asked Ricardo. 

Hanaud pointed to a table. Calladine and Joan 
Carew were seated at it taking their supper. 

"Perhaps," said Hanaud with a smile, "perhaps, 
my friend — what? Who shall say that the rooms in 
the Adelphi will not be given up?" 

They turned away from the hotel. But Hanaud 
was right, and before the season was over Mr. Ricardo 
had to put his hand in his pocket for a wedding 
present. 



77 



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